Truth is a Dare
by Spirit Bagle of Death
Summary: When the new Xmen attempt to pass the time with a game of truth or dare, Erik is intrigued, and Charles is...worried. XMen: First Class. Charles/Erik. Rated M for language, man love, and angst.
1. Just a Game

**AN: Well, looks like I'm officially out of fanfiction retirement. Here's the inevitable Erik/Charles pairing, inspired by XMen: First Class. My priority in fanfiction is to pin down and stay true to the characters, and Erik especially is a delicious challenge in that regard. Read and review! Even if you hate it, I welcome constructive crit.**

**Rated M for later smut. Yeah, I do it up right yo. **

"51."

Sean smiled triumphantly and folded his arms over his chest as he recited the figure, taking in the impressed gasps of his friends. The game had been Raven's idea, for outside of training and chess, there was little to do in the old-fashioned and until-recently-empty mansion, and the group of teens weren't mad for the latter like Erik and Charles. The shape shifter in question laughed a full yet feminine laugh of disbelief, and punched Sean playfully in the shoulder.

"No way. At once?"

Hank gave Sean a rueful look and pushed his glasses farther up his nose, moving unperceptively closer to Raven. "Yeah come on Sean, you're supposed to tell the truth."

The newly-christened Banshee shrugged, and downed another shot of the whiskey they had purloined from the cellar during a stretch of free time in between drills. "Swear to fish. It was an old abandoned mental ward, a little ways into the woods by my house. I broke 51 windows at once, but to be fair I had to climb a tree to get the range."

Alex, who had been doing push-ups, paused and looked up at the sonar mutant from the floor. "Hah, I bet that freak show gets you real far with the ladies."

"Only the opera singers….so yeah. Not that far."

Raven, who was well into her second screwdriver and feeling flirtatious, stretched languidly on the parlor couch and sighed. "Come on, enough of these truths, isn't someone going to dare? Someone dare _me." _

Sean was about to open his mouth and flat out demand that she make out with Hank already when a stern, familiar voice interrupted his thought. "I dare one of you to steal Charles's booze…oh. Wait."

The professor stepped out of the doorway and into the light. Everyone except Raven cringed, wondering inwardly how long he'd been there, for even though he was only six years older than Alex, he gave a disturbingly paternal vibe and was sort of a buzz kill. Only the shape shifter knew what an act it was, knew how hard he was trying to be a good example and a leader.

She rolled her eyes, and poured him a glass of whiskey. _I love you to death, Charles, but do I really have to tell everyone about the yard of ale you downed before meeting Moira? _Outwardly, her smile was sweet, angelic even. "Drink?"

The professor raised his eyebrow and accepted the glass, but did not take a sip. "Why thank you, so thoughtful. Now I highly suggest you all go and get your rest. We're practicing agility tomorrow, and I'm not going to tolerate anyone pleading hangover."

Alex sprung to his feet and gave Charles a frat-boy grin. "I don't know man, I'm feeling good. Why don't you play a round with us?"

Hank nodded and shifted awkwardly over on the couch to make room. "Yeah, truth or dare is pretty timeless, but umm, don't ever play it in the lab with a bunch of socially-starved physicists. Scary."

Charles declined the seat, electing his favorite armchair instead, and winked. "I'll mark that down. And I would, but I'm two drinks behind, at least, and otherwise engaged. Have any of you seen Erik?"

"Come now, Charles." Everyone in the room started as Erik's languid baritone sounded out from a nearby corner. The metal manipulator, who had been reading silently in a straight-backed chair obscured by the dimness and an ostentatious houseplant, stood in one graceful movement and revealed himself to the unobservant band. "We all know you don't need to see me to know that I'm here."

Charles, who had indeed sensed his friend's presence long before he'd even tread the correct hallway toward the parlor, beamed from ear to ear like a dolt, then quickly checked himself. Erik had a way of…exaggerating him. In general. "Yes well…polite to ask." He muttered, and then literally shoed his students out of the room. When he was sure they had gone (and left the alcohol), the young mutant relaxed his shoulders and let out a small, weary groan before downing his shot in one neat swig. His second smile was much more controlled.

"I'm surprised you were able to concentrate at all with that prattle going on. Truth or dare. Really."

Erik spanned the room in three long strides and took the seat across from Charles, chess board in hand. As he went about deftly setting the pieces, the telepath took the older man in, and felt a small clench in his chest area, just below the burn of the whiskey and above the fluttering in his stomach. _Damn it all…_

Charles Xavier had stopped dismissing Erik as "just a phase" a fortnight ago, at least. Even if he had been able to rationalize his consumptive physical attraction into simply a jealousy for the other man's strength (and the effort had been made), he could not explain away this…wound. _Not the right word…_but that was the word nonetheless. A chest wound…a heart wound. A yearning. Charles could not deceive that emptiness;…he could not deceive himself.

"Actually."

"Hm? What?" 

The telepath, startled out of his reverie, responded too quickly, and bit his lip in self-reproach. The only thing _within _his control, at this point, was whether or not his friend discovered his embarrassing…predicament, an eventuality he was determined to prevent at all costs.

Erik leveled his hazel eyes at him; twin lasers that held him, fused with him, as surely as the fledgling cerebro. The thin, pale mouth turned slowly upward in a smirk. "I am intrigued by their game. For one thing, Raven is no bore; her sense of fun is good enough for me. Now, from what I gleaned, the premise is simple. One person asks another if they would rather answer a question under an oath of truthfulness or complete a dare the other devises. Am I right?"

Charles swallowed and folded one knee over the other in a fantastic performance of nonchalance. "Yes but it's silly! I should hope everything you say to me ordinarily is true, just as I expect you wish of me. And the dares…we're training for World War III for God's sake! If we're afraid of anything, it won't be a fear conquered on a whim in my living room."

Erik reached across the chess board and commandeered Charles's empty jigger as well as the whiskey bottle on the adjacent side table. For a brief moment, their fingers touched along the glass, and the rare physical contact sent a shudder up the young telepath's spine. _His hands are so rough…_

The metal manipulator poured his own drink and downed it, then poured another to sip more slowly. Those deliciously calloused fingers toyed with a black pawn as he responded, one green eye still appraising his friend. "Of course. But then, we won't be asking ordinary questions, will we? And I'm not looking to scare you with my dares, so much as amuse myself."

Charles grimaced, but it was good-natured. "You are an utter cad. But fine, why not? I always win in chess anyway."

**AN: So. What questions/dares should they ask each other? :P I have some ideas/an outline obviously, but I'm open to imaginative suggestions. ; ) (Which of course, requires that you ReViEw). **


	2. Ich wünsche

Chapter Two: Ich wünsche

Over the past few weeks, Erik Lehnsherr had developed only a guarded rapport with comfort. This sounded strange, even in the first drafts of his own thoughts, but as he sat there, indulging in the whiskey and Charles's attention, he felt it again...the uneasiness in the periphery, like a tense muscle or a half-healed gash. This house...this peaceful night...Charles...they didn't feel like his, and part of him was determined to keep moving, get back to the dark, steely familiarity of his personal vendetta.

The metal manipulator took another sip of his drink and balled his fist around the black pawn, trying to calm his mind. Because he _wanted _this, dammit. He wanted to sit for a while in someone else's life, to breathe, and believe that this creature from some highland faerie tale, this Charles, cared whether he lived or died.

He wanted it so bad that he had stayed. He'd followed Charles around for these weeks and made himself part of a worldly whole. He met for chess and joked and even _flirted _with the telepath, because Charles made hope far too intoxicating.

"Erik? Earth to Erik? Well I guess I'll start since you're the novice in the room. Truth or dare?"

The metal manipulator sat back in his chair and caught those impossibly blue eyes at the tail end of his friend's nervous laugh. There...there in that tremulous little chuckle, was the strongest draw into this unfamiliar world of brotherhood. Charles Xavier, Erik was certain, wanted him in the most basic way. A loner he had been for years, but never an idiot; he knew what he looked like. That and, the professor's attempts to hide his desire were valiant but woeful failures. Even if he had managed to gloss over the minor slip-ups, the compulsive school-girl grins and such, he could not have controlled his subconscious projections. Many times now, the older mutant had felt the telepath's...curiosities, brush his mind; quick flashes of image, or just impressions, of pressure, sweat, gasping, and heat; of pleasurable pain.

Always intense, never specific. Yes...he had a feeling that, strong as the younger man's need may be, Charles was a novice of another sort...and the bare notion made him want to initiate that full, hesitant mouth with a kiss that bruised.

"Sure. Let's see...I choose, truth. You're so fond of asking questions after all."

Charles put his hand to his chin in a very professor-like gesture of contemplation. After nearly a full minute of pondering, he leaned forward and spoke very quietly.

"What if...what if none of the awful things that have happened to you had happened? What if you had been free to discover and explore your gifts, surrounded by a loving family...what if being a Jew, and being a mutant, were okay in 1944 and were okay now. What would you be?"

Erik tensed. The question was not a surprise...he expected nothing less cerebral, nothing less sentimental, from Charles Xavier. But that look of genuine concern etched perpetually on his friend's face would always be jarring.

After all, it was one thing to want to get fucked. But the telepath also wanted, cared, to know_. Everything. _

The metal manipulator stood and turned his back slowly on that puppy-dog sincerity he could not make sense of, and downed his second shot for something to do with his hands. When he responded, his voice was more of a growl than he had intended. "What if is a game for philosophers. Philosophers and insufferable nerds."

Charles laughed, undaunted, behind him. "Well, that's definitely me. But we're talking about you, my friend. You haven't spent the last 30-odd years _entirely _focused on vengeance-"

"Actually, I have."

"Alright then, what about after? What about your lurid best case scenario, and Shaw is dead, and you are a free agent. What would you do with all that beautiful magnetism?"

The last two words faded away, and Erik, never one to retreat for long, moved to drink in Charles again. He was annoyed with the query, and so let the telepath sweat a bit in apprehension. He used the time to register the humming warmth of the buzz and contemplate the cream-and-roses skin peaking through Charles's undone collar. Surely, skin like that wasn't natural. Or maybe it was the most natural thing, the most ideal thing in the world, and he was the calloused dragon. _And you know what they say about dragons...always hungry. _

"An architect." He bit down on the word, because he couldn't run his teeth along that flesh...not yet at least. Charles's sea-colored eyes swam with pure glee at the answer.

"Really! I mean...that fits though, doesn't it?"

Erik shrugged. "As much as anything does. Yes, assuming we win, and we win my way, and you're happy as a canary running the new mutant empire without my help, I would build that empire. I would build it from the veins of ore in the earth I sense right now beneath my feet...from the very ground up." The warmth pooled steadily in his chest. "I would build things these homo sapiens have never even drafted."

A long pause, and then Charles's hand reached up and took Erik's tightly, no not only took it..._squeezed _it, but just for an instant. The moment the telepath realized what he'd done, his face went scarlet, and he pulled back as impulsively as he'd advanced. "That...that's perfect. Thank you for that."

Erik's eyebrow raised. _For what, exactly, Charles? For. What. _

The metal manipulator suddenly realized the advantage of his position. That was, taller, larger, and standing. With slow, deliberate steps, he walked towards the chair, stopping only when he saw the telepath stop breathing, and when his waist was but 1 foot away and level with that deer-in-the-headlights stare.

"Truth or dare, Charles."

"D-dare."

Charles heard himself sigh out the word before he could put any thought behind it. It didn't matter what he said, how the game went, because what was going on in his trousers was not a game. If Erik noticed that he was, to put it bluntly, hard as a rock, (not to mention still a little pink from the hand-holding madness) then he would be giving far more than their fun away. _I can't put the pressure of my desire on him...not when everyone he's ever met his entire life has wanted to take something from him...wanted him FOR something, rather than AS he is, for himself. _

And yet, at this particular moment, half-way into a bottle of hard liquor and staring at the outline of Erik's very prominent manhood through the tight khaki his friend was so fond of...he couldn't help but wonder if _Erik's_ self was on the same page, desire-wise. _Maybe I'm just afraid..._

The telepath did not even have time to be horrified at the absurdity of questioning his own mind before that magnificent bulge was out of view, replaced by a kneeling Erik's mischief-tinged face.

"Feeling brave tonight are we? Hmmmmmmmm." The hum resonated deep in the other man's chest, and sent shivers of pleasure through Charles's abdomen against his will...part of him, the part not lost in a haze of alcohol and lust, was panicking. He just needed to think...to cool off and think...

"I dare you to cut off a lock of that hair you're so vain over. No...no, I dare you to let _me _do it."

The challenge was like a cold shower for his brain. "You...what? No! I mean, why? I like my hair! Don't you?" _Oh bloody Christ, had to add that end bit, didn't we? _

Erik's eyes widened, then creased with the fullness of his smile. He reached up, bold as anything, and seized a healthy section of the mane in question, feeling it's soft thickness between his fingers. His other hand, meanwhile, found his own back pocket, and pulled out what looked like a more intricate, more German version of a Swiss Army knife. The telepath could have died happy, he decided, in that moment; World War III be damned.

"I do, Charles. Very much. You're just going to have to trust that I'm not a masochist...and that I won't ruin what I like. Unless of course you're backing down. I wonder, what's the penalty for "losing" the game? Raven didn't mention that part."

Charles's body mourned the loss of proximity as Erik stood once more, and positioned himself behind his seat. The other man's presence was a downright _force, _asserting itself as aggressively as the power that grew every day.

"There wont be a penalty." The telepath heard himself say. "Do it, and damn you."

The young mutant closed his eyes then, and tried to relax. He heard the cool, clean _thwick _of the metal as Erik found the scissor attachment, and then felt the pressure of the other man's fingers again as they ran once, twice, three times through new territory. They electrified the follicle, the bone, the mind...a pang of fear as the scissors did their work, and surely he would lose the contact now, and have to paste on a normal reaction to this carnal _torture, _and figure out where Erik had messed up the layering of a very expensive, very deliberate barber...

The hands remained. They curled around his temple fluff, and then moved downward, tracing the arteries of Charles's throat. Then the hands became arms, became an iron embrace that claimed his chest and filled the wound, and Charles's lids snapped open to see his own shorn strands resting in Erik's outstretched palm.

"See," rasped the metal manipulator. His breath was white heat against the younger man's ear. "That wasn't so terrible, was it?"

Charles's back arched into those arms. His neck curled against Erik's voice. There was no more hiding now...it was over, and he was relieved, yes...happier than he'd expected...

But his own happiness was not what concerned him at the moment. With a herculean effort, the young mutant stalled his body's imperatives and found his words. The question, when he asked it, was small, and full of urgency.

"Truth or dare, Erik."

Another languid growl. Then, "Hmmm. Truth is a dare, my friend. You tell me this, show me this, every day."

Overcome, the telepath twisted in the armchair so that he was facing the metal master. Erik's gaze, half lidded and hungry, nearly did him in, but he managed to choke out the only thing that mattered more than what they both seemed to be feeling...

"Erik...do you want me? I just...I need to know that this is what you _want. _Not what you think...what you know, that I want. Not what you think needs to happen to keep me...because I would rather keep this locked up forever than make you feel like you couldn't rest...couldn't have a comrade with no strings or expectations-"

In a swift, almost angry motion, the older man bore down and forced his tongue into Charles's mouth. His grip seized the back of the telepath's neck and tightly held him there while he devoured any and all remaining words and wiped a worried mind clean. He sucked, and he bit, and he pushed until the younger man moaned and pulled at his tightly fitted turtleneck, desperate to go deeper, further into the primal place...truth's place. When he was sure he had extinguished all doubt, Erik pulled back, and talked to the swollen, purpled lips, parted and panting...trembling with shock and need.

"Charles. Shut up."

**AN: Heheheh. Well y'know...then they just offed to their separate rooms and watched sit coms...NOT. Next chapter in a few days. Please REVIEW THISSSS it was really difficult (though very good fun) to write and I would love some feedback. **


	3. Jericho

Chpater Three: Jericho

The whiskey bottle crashes to the floor. It shatters into uncountable pieces, and a particularly vengeful shard finds its way beneath my forearm. There is much blood. I do not feel it. It is white noise and phantom pain; a background casualty of war. _War. Why war? Oh God..._

I'm on my back. Erik's fingernails dig into my shoulders as he attends to a heretofore untouched bit of skin behind my ear, licking the mark his teeth have just made. It has been a few minutes since that first world-stopping kiss, and as I writhe beneath him, spellbound by the rhythm of his grinding hips, I know the word is apt.

I have felt heat. This burns.  
>I have wanted...many things. I need him.<br>I have felt weight above me, but Erik's body is not that of the soft, cello-shaped co-eds I have grown accustomed to. Erik is molten rock, all force, all angles and aggression. Erik is a man, and I have never been with a man before.

He sees the blood now, and quickly frees my upper half from the pinning grip he had chosen for his conquest. His hazel eyes uncloud, grow clear with concern...and my heart sinks. It is bad enough we're still clothed...but if he pulls back now I just might do him in...or lose my nerve.

"Charles, you're bleeding."

"Doesn't matter..."

His brows crease, and he appraises me as he did that first night at the compound, when he nearly walked out into the night, out of my life forever...as if I were a naive child. To show him that I'm all grown up, I raise myself on my injured elbow and wrap my thighs around his waist, forcing our stifled erections together. My movement earns me a chest-deep groan.

"Hmmmnnngh...no. Get up. We've got to deal with that first. Last thing we need is you nursing some sort of injury before we have to lead the stalwart band in a fight for real."

My heart is pounding...with anger, lust, both, I do not know. But the rush of hormone-saturated blood to the brain gives me courage. I lean a few more inches upward and claim his bottom lip, lick it from left to right with a wet hard tongue. My free hand yanks at his belt buckle desperately. "My friend..." And then I think to him. _If you don't take me right now, WE just might fight for real._

The stress lines in his forehead go slack. He sinks into the kissing again, rolling over so that I am off the floor and away from the offending glass...on top of him. I manage to undo his belt at last, and my whole body quakes as I reach beneath the waistline, feeling for the nexis of all this insanity...

"P-p-profess...Erik...uhm...heard a...heard a noise...thought there was trouble..."

We both freeze, and the pleasure tearing through me becomes a throbbing ache as arousal is frustrated, infused with the cold reality of an extra pair of eyes. Behind us, Hank McCoy stands in the doorway in a rumpled Led Zepplin T-shirt and boxers, alternatively gaping and refolding his glasses. His thoughts flutter over us, moth-like. _What the...oh God, not polite to stare gotta take these off, but now I can't see I think I just stepped on something sharp thought a demon or some crap broke in but I'm not sure this is __any better just wait til I tell Raven she'll have to get over Erik now. Ugh that's so selfish Hank,what's wrong with you why am I still here! I gotta leave! _

Somebody yells. "That's bloody right you do. Christ, don't any of you ever go to sleep, or venture out? This house has over fifty rooms; explore!"

That somebody is me. For a moment there is ringing silence, and then Erik bursts out laughing. I feel my face turn red, and fight off a strong urge to kick him as I separate myself and stand.

"Sorry...gah sorry leaving now!"

My sigh is long. "No Hank, _I'm _sorry. Please excuse us...and I won't order you not to tell the others, but it would be really, really top notch of you if you didn't, ay?"

With that I turn on my heel and head towards the closest exit; Erik follows silently. I make a few quick turns and go down a flight of stairs, aimless directionally, just needing to get away from the thrumming telepathic presence of the students...I am both disturbed and amazed that our passion blocked them out, and that I didn't hear Beast coming.

"Don't feel too bad, Charles. I forgot to lock the door." I stop walking and whirl to face Erik, amusement still ghosting his square face.

"Am I really thinking that loudly?"

"Hah." He leans in again and breathes in the scent of my hair, using his index finger to turn the door knob behind us. "You're doing everything loudly. And I hope that's a trend."

…...

…...

…...

He picks out the glass quickly, but I can't help but wince. As much as I cursed circumstance minutes ago, it is probably a good thing that we attend to this now; sex is quite the pain killer, and one or two of the wounds are deep. When he is sure he's gotten it all, he rummages about in the medicine cabinet and pulls out gauze, peroxide, surgical tape, etc, as if he does this for a living. I say a silent thank you to my well-trained domestic staff for keeping _all_ of the bathrooms stocked, (a habit they learned the hard way from Mother, no doubt) and then reach out to run my fingers through his sleek black fringe.

"Thank you. You're ah...good at this."

Erik smirks. "This? This is nothing. Try dealing with a bullet wound in the basement of a youth hostel. In Morocco. Now _that _was a challenge."

He sets the last piece of tape, and I flex my elbow experimentally. A minor prickling, but otherwise, an accident in the past. "Boast some more why don't you." I retort, but there is a tense edge to my voice.

In the cold florescent light, things are a little...dodgier. A little less...organic.

Erik, sensing that something isn't right, looks me dead on again, takes my arm, and kisses the makeshift bandage in a gesture so uncharacteristically tender that I feel my eyes fill...his thoughts are course velvet in my head.

_Poor Professor Charles. You're not used to following. Follow me now, and you won't regret it. _

And just like that...the certainty of death could not prevent me.

…..._Erik POV._...

…...

…...

Erik did not do anything slowly. Least of all this. On the rare occasions when this or that Spartan room had felt like a prison cell, and he was sure he was turning crazy listening to the lurid soundtrack of his own thoughts, his bed mates had been easily won, anonymous, and all too eager for his particular brand of punishing intimacy.

So when Charles Xavier removed his own shirt and sat shyly next to him on the bed, all nerves and ambivalence, Erik watched, and marveled at his own patience...

He didn't want to hurt Charles. And more than that...he wanted this to last. _What in God's name is happening to me? _

The metal master moved in then, and dealt light kisses to the other man's collarbone, partly to avoid his own mental question. The soft sigh Charles let out cured what Hank had ruined, and soon the flesh beneath his lips bloomed as a blush crept from his friend's face downward.

_Mmmmmmmm..._

Erik took the opportunity of contentment to slip to the ground, and place himself in between Charles's thighs. He buried his face in the tweed-clad crotch and breathed against the hardness there, all the while tracing the contours of the telepath's slim stomach and sides. The heart beat beneath quickened.

_Oh...Erik..._

_Take them off, Charles. I want to watch you do it. _

The other man said nothing in response, only obeyed and made short work of his zipper, pulling the slacks and briefs slowly downward until they lay in a heap at his ankles. He watched with half-closed eyes as Erik took the tip of his cock in his mouth and then bore down expertly, his throat muscles working until it completely disappeared.

"Nggng..."

Erik thrilled to the pleasure sound, to the shuddering member clenched between his lips. He sucked in long, luxurious strokes until it shined, never pausing, silently thanking the X gene for telepathy; it would take coaxing with Charles. He had to heat before he boiled over.

_Is this what you wanted? My head in your lap while you moaned?_

_Yessss..Lord, how are you DOING that?_

He pinched the sensitive skin surrounding his balls, swollen with arousal; Charles's shock was sublime.

_How? Because I'm not one of your Oxford girls. Because in a minute I'm going to turn you around, bend you over, and make you scream my name. _

"Ah...Erik I'm going to..."

Erik didn't wait for him to finish. Instead, he disengaged and straightened up, relishing the unintelligible protests of his frenzied friend, and in a fit of inspiration seized his wrists, using the college signet ring and sterling Rolex watch on either hand as conduits for his power. The magnetic field shot Charles's arms up high above his head and pulled him a few inches off the bed, as if hanging from an invisible rope. He gasped and struggled for a moment, but the truth of his reaction lay in the blown pupils of his wild eyes, in the precum drizzling from the abandoned cock.

Erik did not want to hurt Charles. Unless Charles enjoyed a little suffering.

The metal manipulator advanced again, using every bit of self control he possessed to stop himself from just...pouncing, and slid behind his captive on the bed. He ground against that smooth, trembling ass as he freed his own long-suffering erection, and reached around to grasp Charles's member, still slick from his ministrations.

"Did you hear me, Charles?" He growled, tightening his magnetic grip on the other man's form as his hand worked him in slow, even spans.

"Ich werde Sie nehmen." _I'm going to fuck you. _

Charles came hard, bucking like an epileptic into his fist as the semen shot out of him and drained him of all agency, leaving him pliant and prone. A wave of something ineffable hit Erik's mind...stars, mist, ozone; he didn't know. All he discerned were those high-pitched cries, and the warm, dark cleft spread out above him...

…...

…...

…..._Charles's POV..._

A single tear mixes with the sticky whiteness he has drawn from me, and falls into his palm. I don't know why I'm crying. I feel like I don't know anything anymore...except that he brought me here, and that I am his. So completely his...

I want to touch him. I want to sink into his arms, bury my head in his chest, and make him rebuild the walls he has reduced to rubble in my mind...

The magnetic chains tighten, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. The recent orgasm did not cure the pricking deep within...cannot explain these tears or my shaking. No...the answer is yet to come...and I am risen, ready and reaching, to meet it.

Something silver flies through the air into Erik's soiled hand. My Vitimin E...the scent of citrus mixes with the smell of sex as he opens the makeshift lubricant, and scoops out a generous amount. I don't have to be a professor to know what's coming next...

"Erik...please..."

A jolt of fear as he prepares me, and works the lotion between my legs, around my balls...generously coating his own straining, grinding manhood. Fear and fatal pleasure.

"Please what," he whispers, and I spread my thighs wider, pull desperately at the chains so that my signet ring digs into my finger, and the springs in my watch stretch.

"Let me go. Let me feel you..." 

I hear a soft rumpling, and then his naked, sweat-soaked chest is flush against my heaving back. He throws the tin aside and grasps me tightly by the hips and by my hair, tangling his legs with mine and licking away the salty trickles making their way from my eyes and down to the hollow of my throat.

"Feel me, Charles."

The invisible force dissolves, and I impale myself on his cock. Stars explode across my vision, and for one horrible moment, there is nothing but a ripping, iron-rod agony. I feel myself heave against it, and hear the silent and non-specific crest into a sob of pure physical distress...But then that strong and ready arm lifts me, eases me slowly up and even more slowly downward, so that by the time I take him to the hilt again I am grounded once more,...filled, rather than invaded.

_Filled..._

Erik, unable to hold out any longer, begins thrusting upwards, his fingertips leaving wheels in my sides as he tries to save me from the savage pace of his need. I arch into him, and use my new found freedom to move one of those hands to my heart. I hold it there,kiss its knuckles, think to him.

_No. All of you...I want all of you...to hell with everything but this._

His groan is long, tortured...but he listens and stops restraining himself. I pitch forward and bury my face in the mattress, give into the wilderness, relish his looming weight as he follows me down, hooks his knee behind mine, hugs me close, utterly possesses me...

And then he hits it. That prickling spot...the center. The answer. I choke on my screams as he hits it again, and again, and _again, _and then comes in a violent spasm inside me, saying my name over and over, like a prayer or directions he _must _remember to find his way. The last of my walls come crashing to the ground.

_I love you, Erik...Magneto...God help me...but I love everything that you are._

_…...  
><em>**AN: Hmmmmmm So what did we think? Also, wonder how Erik's gonna take THAT news! Lol. Final chapter in a few days! (Reviewwwwwww please.) **


	4. Gift

For a long while, nothing moved, and nothing mattered. Erik had pinned Charles in his final collapse and remained on top of him, inside of him, breathing only gradually returning to normal, and the telepath, for his part, found the heavy weight grounding, a way back...a safe place.

But then he _was_ back, and the man above him stirred. He felt the mattress dip as Erik rose and sat on the edge of the bed, heard the agitated shuffling in the night table drawer, smelled the acrid fumes of a match-lit cigarette; a transient flicker of light in a now pitch-dark room.

He didn't have to take advantage of the glow's opportunity, didn't have to look, to know that Erik was troubled. A psychic storm gathered steadily around the older mutant's body, radiated electromagnetic rain, tortured thunder, clashing doubt and fear and ...fire, so that Charles nearly lost himself again in its harrowing force...in Erik's mind, and Erik's heart.

The telepath tried hard not to listen to the particulars of the tempest as he rallied his courage and pushed the post-satisfaction fatigue away. In a motion that was deceptively smooth considering the burning pain that gripped his insides, Charles raised himself on one elbow and looked at his friend anyway.

"Erik...I'm sorry."

The other man exhaled deeply, engulfing the immediate space in a cloud of smoke. His laugh was short, clipped, tense. "You must be, Charles, to feel that way about me."

The telepath forced himself to sit upright, and gripped the metal master's shoulder. His response had stirred something in him...a desperation, but not for his own sake. It granted him the gall he needed.

"No. _No _Erik. I am not sorry for loving you, nor am I daft for it..." _There is so much in you to love..._ "I..." he swallowed the ache in his throat and ran his fingers through his hair self-consciously, willing the older mutant to look away from the wall, to stop clutching the shrinking cigarette as if it were a life line. "I'm sorry I thrust it upon you as I did, and after my whole schpeel about no strings. There..." and this time he really had to fight to keep his voice from shaking, "There still are none, my friend. But my love is my truth to you..._for _you. It is a gift...given perhaps unwisely, in a moment of..."_ God of what? Of bliss? Of death? _"daring. Do with it what you will."

With that, Charles leaned down, and began gathering his clothing, putting all his focus on the mechanical actions, on how to get one foot in front of the other without showing the physical price of their intimacy in his walk, his wince...

Silence. And then, when he had stood completely with only a sharp inhale..."Where are you going."

Charles turned, and met the eyes of the storm. "You crave solitude. I can feel it."

Erik growled then, and seized the younger man tightly by the shoulders. The embers revealed embers...anger. "Would you stop, worrying about what I want. I know what I want, and I took it. And you gave it. You're always giving, Charles. Conceding, compromising. You care, and you give, and you love, entirely _too much." _

The low tones broke then, and Erik's mouth pressed itself into a taught line. His arms were shaking, and Charles, astounded...watched his friend's eyes fill at the corners before allowing himself to be pulled in a vice-like embrace. He was held then, hard, and close and absolutely...like a buoy in a cold, black sea.

"I wanted what I gave." He whispered. "Erik. I wanted to give it, and I will always worry...will always love..." _you. _

The other man's sigh enveloped him, rattled the fortress of his chest and arms. Finally; "I know many languages, Charles. I had to learn... but I don't remember what your words _mean. _I unlearned them. I don't have them anymore..."

Charles laced his fingers around the other man's neck, and kissed the thin, trembling lips. _It's alright, _he sent with his mind as they both lay back down in the dark. _I'm a Professor...I can translate. _

_Epilogue _

Today, I moved the satellite dish.

Today I remembered.

END

AN: Well there we have it. Thanks to everyone who stuck with this, I hope you enjoyed it. This was ssososososo hard to end! Writers block I keeeeel you! Did it feel believable? IC? Please review I am eager to hear what you all thought!


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